Apology Challenge by prudence_dearly
Title: Nothing Says 'I’m Sorry' Like…
Author:
prudence_dearly
Characters: Ray/Ray, Frannie, Huey, Dewey
Rating: G
Word count: 1,151
Summary: What does a guy have to do to prove he's sorry?
Thanks to
andeincascade for beta.
On Monday, Kowalski’s phone was ringing off the hook. He checked caller ID every single time before answering it, and sometimes he just let it ring. His voicemail had a dozen messages. He deleted them all without listening to them. He switched off his cellphone.
“What’s up Kowalski’s ass?” Dewey muttered to Huey, casting a glance at where Kowalski sat hunched over his desk, shoulders tense, jaw clenched, ready to bite the head off anyone who came near.
Huey shrugged. “He’s got paperwork,” he said.
“I don’t think that’s it,” said Dewey.
*
On Tuesday, Frannie came clip-clopping through the bullpen on her high heels, craning to see around the massive bunch of flowers she was carrying. She knocked over a chair, a lamp and thirty files that had been meticulously alphabetised before arriving at Kowalski’s desk. He glared at her.
“Flowers,” Frannie said brightly.
“No kidding,” snapped Kowalski. “I don’t want ’em.”
“Oh come on, Ray, you’re being unreasonable.”
Kowalski stood up abruptly.
“I - don’t - want - them,” he repeated, enunciating each word clearly, before shoving past her and heading for the door.
“What should I do with them, then?” she demanded of his departing back.
“I don’t care!”
Frannie made a face at Kowalski as he disappeared.
“What’s going on?” asked Dewey.
“You didn’t hear?” Frannie trotted over and laid the flowers on her own desk. She plucked the card out of their midst, read it, rolled her eyes, and dropped it in the trash can. “My brother scratched Kowalski’s car over the weekend.”
“I thought Vecchio was out of town,” said Huey, fishing the note out of the trash and reading it himself. It said, “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, he left Sunday afternoon, but on Sunday morning he took the E.T.O. to pick up the kids from Sunday School and a bee got in the car and he swerved and scraped up against a bush.”
“Ooooh,” grimaced Huey and Dewey in unison.
*
On Wednesday, a gift basket arrived. It was filled with chocolate and coffee. It sat on Kowalski’s desk for the entire morning while he eyed it balefully and tried to get some work done. Finally, he jumped up, grabbed his coat, and shouted at Frannie that he was going to go kick Watson in the head and that basket had just better be gone by the time he got back.
Frannie obediently stashed it under her own desk. She could share out the goodies that evening when she went to her Single Mothers’ Support Group.
“Why’d Vecchio send Kowalski flowers?” wondered Dewey. Huey gave him a blank look. “Yesterday. He sent flowers. Who sends flowers to another guy? And candy? That’s a little weird, isn’t it?”
Huey pinched the bridge of his nose between a thumb and forefinger, and wondered if he was really safe policing the streets with a partner who could be so monumentally slow on the uptake.
*
On Thursday, a gorilla-gram arrived at the front desk and asked to speak to Francesca Vecchio. She brought him through to the bullpen, beckoning a crowd to join her as she led the way to Kowalski’s desk. She pointed to Kowalski and said, “That’s him.” Then she stood back with her arms folded, grinning. “This oughta be good.”
Kowalski’s face was a picture as the gorilla-gram fished out a pitchpipe, blew a note, spread its arms and started to sing.
“I’m sorry, so sorry…”
Kowalski buried his face in his heads and stayed like that until the song was over. There was a smattering of applause, and the gorilla-gram was escorted out again.
Frannie, Huey and Dewey watched Kowalski. Eventually, he raised his head, shook out his arms and shoulders, cracked his neck, and got back to work.
“Huh,” said Frannie, turning away. “I woulda bet that’d work.”
“Why was Vecchio driving Kowalski’s car in the first place?” asked Dewey. Frannie and Huey stopped in the act of getting back to their own desks, and looked at him. “Why did he have Kowalski’s car on a Sunday morning?” Dewey went on. “There’s nothing wrong with his car, right? He just drove to Jersey in it.”
Frannie and Huey exchanged baffled expressions, then turned their backs on Dewey and walked away.
“What?” called Dewey after them.
*
On Friday, Vecchio was back in town. He pulled in to the 27th precinct’s car park and slammed on the brakes just as Kowalski was angling out of his car. It had been detailed to within an inch of its life; it sat gleaming like oil under the overcast sky.
“Kowalski!” yelled Vecchio. Huey and Dewey, climbing out of their own car and heading towards the building, slowed down to rubber-neck at the impending confrontation.
Vecchio stalked across the lot and came to a halt in front of Kowalski, who was leaning on the trunk of the GTO with his arms crossed sullenly across his chest. Vecchio stood for a moment, hands on hips, radiating annoyance. Then he seemed to get a grip on himself.
“What’s he saying?” asked Dewey. He and Huey had stopped just outside the door to the station.
“What do you think?” said Huey.
The door opened and Frannie came out.
“I heard Ray’s back,” she said, standing on tip-toes to get a good view of the show-down at the GTO. “How’s it going so far?”
“Ten bucks says Kowalski punches him,” said Dewey, fishing in his pocket for money.
“You set my car on fire and drove it into the lake!” shrieked Vecchio, flinging his hands in the air. His voice carried clearly in the crisp early morning air. “It was just a scratch! And I got it fixed! It looks better than ever, now! And I said I’m sorry.” His voice lowered again. Huey, Dewey and Frannie shuffled inconspicuously nearer. “I am sorry, Kowalski. Believe me, I know what it’s like to see your car get hurt. Will you please accept my apology?”
Kowalski pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes at Vecchio. Then he lifted his chin a little and said, “Say sorry to the Goat.”
Their audience of three drew in a breath. For a moment Vecchio looked as if he might explode, or yell, or burst out laughing. But instead he took a step back, turned to be sure he was addressing the car, and said, clearly, “I’m very sorry. It was an accident and it will never happen again.”
Vecchio looked at Kowalski. Kowalski nodded, and allowed his face to relax into a smile.
“Thank you,” he said. “We both accept your apology.”
“So I’m forgiven?” said Vecchio, and he was smiling now, too, and stepping back up to Kowalski, letting his hands rest on Kowalski’s hips. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Kowalski’s lips.
“My brother the romantic,” muttered Frannie, rolling her eyes.
“No more gorilla-grams, then,” said Huey, disappointed.
“Oh,” said Dewey, as light finally dawned.
Author:
prudence_dearly
Characters: Ray/Ray, Frannie, Huey, Dewey
Rating: G
Word count: 1,151
Summary: What does a guy have to do to prove he's sorry?
Thanks to
andeincascade for beta.
On Monday, Kowalski’s phone was ringing off the hook. He checked caller ID every single time before answering it, and sometimes he just let it ring. His voicemail had a dozen messages. He deleted them all without listening to them. He switched off his cellphone.
“What’s up Kowalski’s ass?” Dewey muttered to Huey, casting a glance at where Kowalski sat hunched over his desk, shoulders tense, jaw clenched, ready to bite the head off anyone who came near.
Huey shrugged. “He’s got paperwork,” he said.
“I don’t think that’s it,” said Dewey.
*
On Tuesday, Frannie came clip-clopping through the bullpen on her high heels, craning to see around the massive bunch of flowers she was carrying. She knocked over a chair, a lamp and thirty files that had been meticulously alphabetised before arriving at Kowalski’s desk. He glared at her.
“Flowers,” Frannie said brightly.
“No kidding,” snapped Kowalski. “I don’t want ’em.”
“Oh come on, Ray, you’re being unreasonable.”
Kowalski stood up abruptly.
“I - don’t - want - them,” he repeated, enunciating each word clearly, before shoving past her and heading for the door.
“What should I do with them, then?” she demanded of his departing back.
“I don’t care!”
Frannie made a face at Kowalski as he disappeared.
“What’s going on?” asked Dewey.
“You didn’t hear?” Frannie trotted over and laid the flowers on her own desk. She plucked the card out of their midst, read it, rolled her eyes, and dropped it in the trash can. “My brother scratched Kowalski’s car over the weekend.”
“I thought Vecchio was out of town,” said Huey, fishing the note out of the trash and reading it himself. It said, “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, he left Sunday afternoon, but on Sunday morning he took the E.T.O. to pick up the kids from Sunday School and a bee got in the car and he swerved and scraped up against a bush.”
“Ooooh,” grimaced Huey and Dewey in unison.
*
On Wednesday, a gift basket arrived. It was filled with chocolate and coffee. It sat on Kowalski’s desk for the entire morning while he eyed it balefully and tried to get some work done. Finally, he jumped up, grabbed his coat, and shouted at Frannie that he was going to go kick Watson in the head and that basket had just better be gone by the time he got back.
Frannie obediently stashed it under her own desk. She could share out the goodies that evening when she went to her Single Mothers’ Support Group.
“Why’d Vecchio send Kowalski flowers?” wondered Dewey. Huey gave him a blank look. “Yesterday. He sent flowers. Who sends flowers to another guy? And candy? That’s a little weird, isn’t it?”
Huey pinched the bridge of his nose between a thumb and forefinger, and wondered if he was really safe policing the streets with a partner who could be so monumentally slow on the uptake.
*
On Thursday, a gorilla-gram arrived at the front desk and asked to speak to Francesca Vecchio. She brought him through to the bullpen, beckoning a crowd to join her as she led the way to Kowalski’s desk. She pointed to Kowalski and said, “That’s him.” Then she stood back with her arms folded, grinning. “This oughta be good.”
Kowalski’s face was a picture as the gorilla-gram fished out a pitchpipe, blew a note, spread its arms and started to sing.
“I’m sorry, so sorry…”
Kowalski buried his face in his heads and stayed like that until the song was over. There was a smattering of applause, and the gorilla-gram was escorted out again.
Frannie, Huey and Dewey watched Kowalski. Eventually, he raised his head, shook out his arms and shoulders, cracked his neck, and got back to work.
“Huh,” said Frannie, turning away. “I woulda bet that’d work.”
“Why was Vecchio driving Kowalski’s car in the first place?” asked Dewey. Frannie and Huey stopped in the act of getting back to their own desks, and looked at him. “Why did he have Kowalski’s car on a Sunday morning?” Dewey went on. “There’s nothing wrong with his car, right? He just drove to Jersey in it.”
Frannie and Huey exchanged baffled expressions, then turned their backs on Dewey and walked away.
“What?” called Dewey after them.
*
On Friday, Vecchio was back in town. He pulled in to the 27th precinct’s car park and slammed on the brakes just as Kowalski was angling out of his car. It had been detailed to within an inch of its life; it sat gleaming like oil under the overcast sky.
“Kowalski!” yelled Vecchio. Huey and Dewey, climbing out of their own car and heading towards the building, slowed down to rubber-neck at the impending confrontation.
Vecchio stalked across the lot and came to a halt in front of Kowalski, who was leaning on the trunk of the GTO with his arms crossed sullenly across his chest. Vecchio stood for a moment, hands on hips, radiating annoyance. Then he seemed to get a grip on himself.
“What’s he saying?” asked Dewey. He and Huey had stopped just outside the door to the station.
“What do you think?” said Huey.
The door opened and Frannie came out.
“I heard Ray’s back,” she said, standing on tip-toes to get a good view of the show-down at the GTO. “How’s it going so far?”
“Ten bucks says Kowalski punches him,” said Dewey, fishing in his pocket for money.
“You set my car on fire and drove it into the lake!” shrieked Vecchio, flinging his hands in the air. His voice carried clearly in the crisp early morning air. “It was just a scratch! And I got it fixed! It looks better than ever, now! And I said I’m sorry.” His voice lowered again. Huey, Dewey and Frannie shuffled inconspicuously nearer. “I am sorry, Kowalski. Believe me, I know what it’s like to see your car get hurt. Will you please accept my apology?”
Kowalski pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes at Vecchio. Then he lifted his chin a little and said, “Say sorry to the Goat.”
Their audience of three drew in a breath. For a moment Vecchio looked as if he might explode, or yell, or burst out laughing. But instead he took a step back, turned to be sure he was addressing the car, and said, clearly, “I’m very sorry. It was an accident and it will never happen again.”
Vecchio looked at Kowalski. Kowalski nodded, and allowed his face to relax into a smile.
“Thank you,” he said. “We both accept your apology.”
“So I’m forgiven?” said Vecchio, and he was smiling now, too, and stepping back up to Kowalski, letting his hands rest on Kowalski’s hips. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Kowalski’s lips.
“My brother the romantic,” muttered Frannie, rolling her eyes.
“No more gorilla-grams, then,” said Huey, disappointed.
“Oh,” said Dewey, as light finally dawned.